


We Can't Choose How We're Made

by lottaselfesteem



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Friendship, Gender Dysphoria, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide mention, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Triggers, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 00:16:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7822882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lottaselfesteem/pseuds/lottaselfesteem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon is trans, and from time to time dysphoria hits him hard. He spends an evening with Thomas to distract him from the bad.</p>
<p>[[title from Transgender Dysphoria Blues by Against Me!]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Can't Choose How We're Made

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This is the first thing I've written in months so it's not the best. I was sorta venting so it gets sorta dark but I ent expecting anyone to read this so does it rlly matter lmao  
> 2) c h e c k t h e t a g s f o r t r i g g e r s  
> 3) I know Jon ent really trans this is fiction  
> 4) if theres any shitty comments on this i'm just gonna delete them alright there's nowt wrong w being trans

Jon hopped out of the shower, trying to remember where he'd left his towel when he entered the unfamiliar bathroom. He looked up, and made the mistake of catching sight of himself in the mirror. All at once, he felt his day go bleak. 

He always aimed to avoid seeing his reflection, b cause it was a painful reminder of everything he wasn't. It was even worse to catch sight of himself right after a shower, because he had nothing to hide behind. 

He felt exposed. He could see his wide hips, narrow shoulders, scarred chest- worst of all, he could see where there should be a dick. 

Jon _hated_ being trans. He despised it. 

It didn't matter how many shop assistants called him sir, how many friends said dude, bro, man. Looking in a mirror, all he saw was _her_. He could see Chloe everywhere he looked, in the curve of his hip and the softness of his jaw. Although nobody ever saw him as a girl (Dodie had never even guessed until he told her), he still couldn't help but hate himself for being too feminine. 

He wasn't stealth, exactly. He did tell friends, once he trusted them. But he chose to keep it hidden from social media, because he wasn't happy enough in himself to let others rip into him. 

He decided that in this frame of mind, he couldn't be alone. This was the frame of mind he entered at his darkest times, when death seemed preferable to looking how he did. This was meant to be a good week. He was in Florida for Playlist, and his birthday fell during his stay. He was down a couple days early so he could see friends. This was a good week. 

So why did he feel lowkey suicidal?

He decided to text Thomas and see if they could hang out. What he needed right now was a distraction. 

**if ur not busy could u make it to my hotel ?? bad day**  
_i’ll be 10 minutes. keep yourself safe, can leo come?_  
**not just yet pls, i don't kno him well enough. maybe later**  
_that's fine, i’ll tell him to keep his phone on him xx what sort of bad day? do you need hugs and company, or chocolate and cigarettes?_  
**all of the above man, it's really not a good feeling. i’ll explain when ur here but pls be quick**

Jon laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, before realising that he needed to get dressed before Thomas arrived. He really didn't have the motivation to move, but he knew he needed to. Avoiding eye contact with the full length mirror by his bed, he dragged on a pair of boxers and some shorts, before digging through his suitcase for his blue button up. 

He took a moment to thank the Lord that he no longer had to wear binders. Although it was a good 5 years since his top surgery, he still remembered the restrictive burn of the fabric on his chest. The pressure made it near impossible to breathe, and that wasn't a feeling he would ever be able to forget. 

Once the shirt was on, he found himself subconsciously running his fingers along the scars on his chest. He did that a lot, nowadays. 

There was a knock at the door. Wearily, Jon edged towards it and undid the latch, opening it to a concerned Thomas. 

“You okay for hugs?”

Jon nodded, and found himself being engulfed in his friend’s arms. He felt safer with Tom around, and allowed himself to relax. His hand went slack against his shirt, and he stopped feeling the scars. Forgetting felt good. 

The two moved over towards Jon’s bed, and Thomas lowered the small, shaking boy onto his pillows. Reaching into his backpack, Thomas pulled out a slab of chocolate, some lemonade, and at ten deck of cigarettes. Jon perked up a little at the sight of the packet, but Thomas picked it back up. 

“If you like, we can go out on the balcony for a burn. But I'm gonna need you to talk to me first, because I’m worried about you. You're not usually so quiet.”  
Jon nodded. “Just, general dysphoria I guess. I forgot that the hotel was laid out differently to my apartment, and there was a mirror in the bathroom that I wasn't expecting.”

Tom nodded knowingly, and wordlessly gestured to the balcony. Jon shot him a grateful smile, before picking up a lighter from his bedside cabinet. 

The two traipsed out to the balcony and sat down, enjoying the low light. It was around 10pm, and the sky was dark. Jon sparked up, and with the first inhalation of smoke felt his earlier stress dissipate. 

It was weeks since he'd had a burn, and he missed the nicotine rush. Really, he didn't smoke all that often, but the rare occasions he did made him wish he was getting through a pack a day. Thomas watched him with concern- he knew Jon, and was aware that the smoking was a desperate times/desperate measures act, but he still felt bad for enabling it. He disapproved of smoking mostly, but he knew Jon’s mental health track record and would much prefer to provide him with a ten deck once every few months than have his friend self harm like he had in the past. 

“Do you wanna talk?”  
“Can you talk about something other than this? I sorta wanna kill myself and I'm terrified of my own head and I really want to focus on anything else.”

Thomas wasn't fazed by Jon’s announcement, but instead went on to talk about his and Leo’s anniversary. 

“So yeah, I want to do something special for mine and Leo’s two year, right? But I'm not sure. Like, it's the day before my birthday, so it's the Sunday of Playlist, but I feel sorta bad that we're gonna be there rather than going off on our own for a date or whatever. I wanna take him out somewhere special, but it's sorta hard to come up with anything when I know we're gonna be out the whole day with no alone time.”  
“I'm sure you'll figure something out. Maybe take him to dinner afterwards, and have a movie night or something? I doubt he's looking for anything too expensive or extravagant.”

Jon took a drag of his cigarette, closing his eyes and tilting his head back in a state of euphoria. He exhaled slowly and carefully, not wanting to waste even a moment of nicotine-induced bliss.  
“Knowing Leo, he probably just wants to be with you. Make time for him through the day. Escape to the green room sometimes. Just stay with him, yknow? Then go out some place nice for dinner and boom, you've anniversaried.”  
“You sound like an expert.”  
Jon shrugged. “When I have girlfriends, I put a lot of effort and time into them. It's sorta hard to find girls that'll be with me despite my body, so when one comes along I cherish it.”  
“You seem like an amazing boyfriend. I don't see why any girl wouldn't want you.”  
“Eh, I don't mind. I find it sorta hard to be with someone like that because I can be kinda a burden. I've got my friends, and I don't really like inflicting my mental health on anybody else.”  
“You aren't a burden, J.”

Jon laughed bitterly, and then took another drag. It was obvious he didn't believe his friend’s words. 

“I mean it, Cozart. Not one of my friends will ever be a burden, people aren't burdens. Your struggles don't make you unbearable. If you're suffering, it should be people’s duty as respectable human beings to help you.”  
“I just made you drop everything to come and see me because I looked in a fucking mirror.”  
“And as your friend, I had no problem with dropping everything. You're not okay, and I'll be here for you until you are.”

Jon sighed and stubbed out his fag end on the ashtray before jumping to his feet and traipsing back indoors. 

Once again, he found himself subconsciously touching his scars. It hurt, touching the ones on his chest, but it felt even worse to let his hand wander just a little lower and feel the self inflicted ones and his stomach and hips. They didn't cause him any physical pain, but knowing they were there was like a punch in the gut. Because _she_ did that. _She_ let that happen. Those marks that _Chloe_ had felt necessary, were left on _Jon’s_ body. He couldn't ever shed _her_ mistakes. He would always inhabit _her_ body and live with _her_ choices and suffer the aftershocks of _her_ self loathing. _She_ had been the one to cut flesh, to starve herself, to hate herself. Jon never stood a chance, because 14 years of hatred can't just vanish with a name change and some surgery. 

When Jon looked in the mirror, he didn't hate himself- he hated her. He hated that she'd suffered so much without telling anyone, he hated that she'd chosen to hurt herself instead of changing herself. He hated that when given scissors, she would rather cut her hips than her hair. 

How could one person have ever been so miserable? How did nobody notice? Why did they let it go on for a further two years after she finally came out? Who knows, but it happened. And now he's dealing with the aftermath. 

“J? You're staring off into space.”  
“Chloe was a mess.”  
“Was she? Or are you just saying that because you hate her?”  
“She was. She made shitty choice after shitty choice until finally dumping all this on me, like her choices were mine to resolve. If she could have just got herself together back in the fuckin’ 90’s when she first figured herself out, I would never have had to deal with all this pain. She would have died before she even hit puberty and I could have gone on as me, as a boy.”  
“You’re putting a lot of blame on her, but it can’t just have been her. If she knew back then, then you already existed. You were an idea. If you existed, you’re just as responsible for not speaking up.”  
“I know.”  
“You’re not completely separate people.”  
“I know.”  
“They were her choices, but you could have stopped them if you’d tried.”  
“I _know_!” Jon cried, burying his head in his hands. “But it’s a lot easier to blame her.”  
“What’s easiest isn’t always what’s best.”  
“I realise that now, I know. But I didn’t have a choice back then… It wasn’t possible for me t come out, or to stop her from doing all that crap. Where she was at the time, talking about me would have got her institutionalised.”

Jon was aware that it probably wasn’t healthy to refer to Chloe like she was a completely different person to himself, but it was safe. By disconnecting himself, he could forget about his years as a girl, he could treat his feminine side as a whole other person. In terms of his mental health, that was important. His therapists had even agreed; although ignoring his trans status was unhealthy in the long run, it was beneficial until such a time where he could be fully comfortable with himself. 

“Have you ever seen her?” Jon asked, breaking the silence. “Chloe, I mean. Have I shown you pictures? Dodes has seen them, I can't remember who else has.”  
“I've not. Do you wanna show me?”  
“I think I need to. It helps, I guess.”  
“I imagine it would probably be good for you, seeing how much you've changed.”  
“Exactly! When I showed Dodie, she didn't even recognize me. She sorta didn't believe that me and Chloe were even related. That was good for me, to be honest. Looking through the pictures with other people, it works because it makes me realize that I'm really not as femme as I think.”  
“Well then, I'd be delighted to see some pictures of Chloe.”  
“Give me a second.”

Jon walked over to the bedside cabinet and picked up his phone, and noting a text from Dodie that said “ _hope ur haps, see u tomorrow xx_ ”, and opened his photo library. He had a folder specifically for times like these, entitled “chloe for shit days”.

“Is it alright if we have another burn while I'm showing you these?”  
“That's fine dude, whatever makes you feel better.”

They went back out to the balcony and Jon sparked up, and took the first drag before opening the photos. He passed the phone to Thomas, with it open to him at age 9, in a neon pink bikini on holiday with his family in Spain. Tom had never seen a photo of anyone looking more unhappy or uncomfortable, and it hurt to think that that was his friend. 

“Just flick through.”

Thomas continued to scroll, and it broke his heart. There was a running theme of discomfort in every picture of the young girl with long blonde hair and empty eyes. It looked nothing like Jon- they could easily have been a different human being. 

He couldn't help but let his eyes flutter between the photos of the girl, and the man in front of him. He was wracking his brains to try and see similarities, but he drew a blank. The colours of the eyes and hair were the only links. Jon had a different figure, different facial structure, different eyebrows, different smile. The girl was paler, looked more on edge, and had differently textured hair. Honestly, if this girl came up to him and said “hi, I'm Jonathan Cozart!” he still wouldn't make the link. 

“Dude…”  
Jon looked up from his almost finished cig with fear in his eyes. “Y-yeah?”  
“Man, if you're worried that you look like a girl, you're so wrong. I've never seen anybody look more different, I swear. I promise you, if I saw this girl stood next to you I wouldn't even think you were _related_ , let alone the same person.”  
“Thanks.” Jon responded quietly, eyes welling up. “I needed that.”  
“Seriously though, I can barely believe this is Chloe. Fuck, man, sorry for my language, but _what_? Dude, I'm actually thrown, is this what you're worried about? That you look like her?”  
“I do look like her. I can't look in a mirror without seeing it, my face hasn't changed, I just have shorter hair. I can barely see a change.”  
“There is a change. There's a _massive_ change. Honestly, I can list it off; your face is a different shape, your hair’s thicker, your eyes are brighter, your jawline’s sharper, your shoulders are broader- there's none of Chloe left in you.”  
“My dad can still see her.”  
“Your dad’s clinging onto a daughter he never had. He's trying to find her in you, because he thinks he did something wrong. You've said before, your dad blamed himself for your suicide attempts, because you were trans. He thinks he raised you wrong, but he didn't. He knows being trans makes your life worse and he's wanted to find something of Chloe left because he wants his daughter happy, and safe.”  
“I know, but-”  
“But nothing, J. He's lying to himself because he doesn't want to blame himself for your mental health.”

Jon put out his cig and lit another. He coughed slightly, the smoke catching awkwardly in his throat. Thomas almost leaped up to take it out his hands, but Jon shooed him away. 

“Thank you, Tom. I just- it doesn't happen often anymore, but it hits me hard. I can’t- I just can't look past the bits of her in me.”  
“That's okay. It's alright not to be 100% comfortable with yourself all the time. Heck, I've had panic attacks on Leo because being gay still sorta scares me. But the thing is, you're happy with yourself.

Look at it this way, J- you've not self harmed in nearly three years. That's a heck of a big deal, dude.

It's okay to be frightened of your sexuality or your gender. You've grown up in a world that tells you you're wrong, _especially_ being in Texas. I was lucky, my family and people in my neighbourhood have always been accepting of that sorta thing. They love Leo, now. But you, you're _so_ brave, Jon. I'm proud as heck of you- I've been to where you grew up, and I'm scared even to hold my boyfriend’s hand. You managed to come out and completely change who you are, and you've gone out the other side as one of the strongest people I've ever met.”

By this point, there were full on tears rolling down Jon’s cheeks. His cig lay forgotten, half out in the ashtray, and he flung himself at Thomas for a hug. The older man just held Jon as he sobbed, wordlessly. 

“Thank you, Tom. Thank you so much.”  
“Do you wanna come sleep at mine and Leo’s for the night? No mirrors in the spare room. I can drive you to the airport in the morning to meet Dodie and you can talk through this with her.”  
“I love you, dude.”  
“Let's go. There's a movie night calling your name, and I can ask Leo to make pizza.”  
“I might tell Leo tonight. He doesn't know yet, but I think I can trust him. If you love him, then he's a good person.”  
“You sure you're comfy with that? I'm not gonna push you.”  
“I want to. Thanks for tonight, Thomas. It means a lot to me, even if it doesn't seem like much.”  
“It’s alright, J. I'm glad I could help. Grab your things, I'll text Leo.”  
As Jon was collecting his stuff into a backpack, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He tensed for a second, but then relaxed. _Fuck dysphoria_ , he thought, _I'm manly as fuck. Fuck the mirror, fuck my reflection, and fuck Chloe. I'm Jonathan Charles goddamn Cozart and nothing makes me less of a man_.  
“Ready to leave, Jon?”  
The small man took a final glance in the mirror. “Ready.”


End file.
